


Let The Morning Come

by ninathena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Public Sex, Quiet Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninathena/pseuds/ninathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our heroes are on an exodus to find a better place. One night, Clarke decides she's done wasting what little time she might have left and Bellarke smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Morning Come

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant for the 100 kink meme, but it just became waaaay too long for that. So, ya'll can have this random smut I wrote :) Sorry if it sucks, and for any mistakes, enjoy!!

The trip was turning out longer than Clarke thought it would. Though it was an exodus after all, that's what Kane had begun calling it, using the word to motivate their people to escape the only home they've ever known on the ground, and start on a long, dangerous journey that made no promises of survival.

Her mind was in a constant state of worry and anxiety, always eating away at her, filling her with overwhelming amount of negative thoughts. Would they get there in time? Did they act fast enough? Was ALIE lying?

She’s not sure when she became such a hopeless mess, but she knows it’s not helpful. So she pushes it away, deep down where no one can see it while she does her best to save her people. Because even hopeless, she can never stop. It’s who she is.

She does her best to hide her morose thoughts as they set up camp, stepping just outside earshot as she gathers firewood nearby. When she suddenly feels him behind her.

“Bellamy,” she mutters, peering at him over her shoulder.

He doesn’t move, his eyes steady on her. “You ok?” He’s not out here to gather his own wood, or to find some privacy. He’s here for her.

The thought leaves her still for a moment, her heart doing that thing that it has ever since those words nearly tore it out.

_Start with Bellamy Blake._

_Bellamy Blake._

Bellamy Blake is her greatest weakness.

Bellamy Blake is someone that she needs, that she cares for. Someone whom she’s not entirely sure she could continue on without.

But what does that mean? She’d been trying to avoid him as best she could since, for the sole purpose of not having to figure that out.

“I’m fine,” she answers, voice not quite steady as she stares at him, direct and daring him to say otherwise.

He doesn’t.

He only nods, curiously with sadness, and begins helping her with her collection. They gather the rest silently, but her eyes trail over to him every now and then, a warmth blooming in her stomach at the thought of him and their relationship, over how it’s changed and developed, how much it means to her. How much _he_ means to her.

They walk back to camp side by side, just as silent, wood thumping as it drops from their arms beside her small fire.

“Thank you,” she says, small and quiet.

He looks up through his dark fringe, brown eyes piercing right through her, yet so soft in how he beholds her. “’Course.” Then he’s unrolling his bedroll on the opposite side of her fire.

“What are you doing?”

Silence is her answer as Bellamy sits back on his blanket with a tired sigh, looking into the flickering flames.

Her head turns, searching the camp until she sees Octavia and Indra as they sit alone, both of them sharpening their swords, almost in synch. “Don’t you want to sit with Octavia?”

A half-hearted, derisive snort comes from him as he widens his legs, arms draping over his bent knees. “I doubt she wants me anywhere near her.” He tries to say it nonchalantly, but she can hear the pain there.

With one last look at the stoic girl, whose youthful face was marred by the dark cloud hanging over it, she turns away, sinking down onto her own bedroll, legs held tight to her chest as she loses herself in the popping fire.

“Besides, I’m more interested in you.”

Her mind jumps at that, her eyes flashing to him, catching him through the heatwaves of the flames between them. “Interested?” she asks in bewilderment.

He’s quiet at first before readjusting himself, inhaling sharply. “Worried,” he corrects himself. “You can tell me,” he says with such emotion it surprises her. “Whatever’s wrong, whatever… whatever’s happened…” His eyes meet hers, so deep and solemn. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

And it aches, sharp and penetrating, cutting away at her defenses. She wants to open up, wants to tell him everything that plagues her, the nightmares that won’t leave her, the dreams that were torn away the moment she dared to hope. She wants to tell him of her failures and her guilt that forever haunt her heart, and probably always will.

But as she sits there, the heat from the low fire flushing her face, she can’t. Because he doesn’t deserve any more baggage than what he already has to carry. And she’ll be damned if she unleashes her own on to him as well.

“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

He blinks slowly, disappointment flashing quickly across his strong features. She just adds it to the mountain that’s already resting heavily on her shoulders.

xxxxxxxxx

The sounds of the ground are loud at night. Animals and insects calling out to each other in a never ending loop of chirps and chatter. It mixes well with the crackle and pop of the fire, the flame bright behind her eyelids.

She opens them slowly, only to see Bellamy still awake, in nearly the same position she left him in.

The orange glow flickers across his face, his wide lips drawn down and half-lidded eyes bloodshot. He looks exhausted, and she wonders when the last time he slept was?

“Bellamy,” she whispers out to him, murmuring his name like a feather that floats inside his occupied mind. But as soft as it is, it still jars him, and his eyes snap to her, blinking furiously for a few moments.

She pushes up despite her entire body begging her to fall back down. There’s no time to waste, and they’d be moving again at dawn. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Can’t.”

She inhales deeply. “Did you even try?” she asks with a teasing grin.

The hush of their conversation feels ethereal, like a delicate thing. Yet at the same time, stronger than anything else in this world.

He ducks his head. “No.”

“If you’re worried about grounders there’re guards—”

“I know. I approved their rotations.” Of course he did. “I know who’s out there,” he says, almost like an afterthought, looking through the darkness that surrounds them.

“Then why?” She already knows why, it’s the same reason why she can never seem to stay asleep for more than an hour or two at a time, and she’s not sure why she’s pushing him.

He raises his chin, eyes fixed on her. “You want me to share, but you won’t do the same?”

She sighs, trying not to roll her eyes, because he’s right. This… _thing_ between them goes both ways, but she just can’t… let go of her walls, of her self-imposed isolation so quickly. She wants to fix him, help him, and he wants the same for her.

She makes a decision, because she’s tired and she knows he is too, and what they both need most, more than anything right now, is sleep.

She gathers her bedroll hastily before she can change her mind, feet crunching as she makes her way around the fire, and spreads out the fabric beside Bellamy’s. His eyes are on her the entire time, like a physical caresses on the back of her neck. She swallows hard as she drops down, avoiding his questioning look. “For sleep,” is the only answer she gives him before lying down, turned away from him.

Her whole body feels tight and anxious, worrying that this might not have been the best idea, but then she breathes easier once she hears him as he settles in behind her, blowing out a ragged breath as he lies back. She can’t see him, so she can’t tell what way he’s facing, but she can feel the heat of him, as strong as any fire, ghosting over her back and around her body, lulling her into relaxation before she finally gives in.

xxxxxxxxx

When she opens her eyes it’s dark, their fire having long since burnt out, their surroundings nearly black until her eyes adjust. The first thing she makes out is Bellamy, his shadowed profile outlined by the hazy blue of the night. She must’ve rolled over in her sleep, facing him as he lies on his back. His chest rises and falls with a calming rhythm, and she’d almost think he’s asleep except for the quick movement of his lashes as he blinks.

His head rolls to her, somehow aware of her wakened state. It’s too dark for her to really see much, just the line of his jaw in the moonlight, long and sharp until it juts up where he clenches it, over and over. She can’t help the pull, tracing her fingers along the taut muscle there, soothing it until it finally relaxes under her barely-there touch.

Her heart is beating like a wild thing, desperate to break free from its cage. She’s lost all control over it. Though whether she really ever had any to begin with is up for debate.

The quiet sounds of camp, random coughs and soft snores along with the lonesome footfalls of guards walking patrol, dissolve around them, fading out until all she can hear is the blood as it rushes through her, like fire in her veins.

It’s not a surprise when his hand comes up around her the back of head, fingers tangling through her hair, a strong presence that keeps her grounded for a moment or two until he’s capturing her lips with his. It’s quick, perfunctory, and as dazed as she is by it, she knows she wants more. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t continue, like he’s waiting for her. And she doesn’t disappoint.

She could write poems about Bellamy’s lips, the chapped skin, sensitive and full against hers, all-encompassing and overwhelming as his kiss transforms from shy and unsure into needy and wanting. She’ll have to settle for sketching them, fingers already itching to trace them across paper, bring form to the cupid’s bow that arches sharply before leading down into the soft corner and around the deep curve of his thick lower lip, already puffy from her attentions. Her tongue takes the path that her fingers can’t, too busy as they are clenched in his jacket.

She feels his groan as it rumbles deep within his chest, pouring out into her mouth where she swallows it, answering it with one of her own. He suddenly tears his mouth away from her, dropping back down beside her, calloused fingers scratching lightly down her neck as his hand slips from her hair, and she’s confused for a moment, worried that maybe she’s gone too far, until her senses return to her, and she hears the telltale sounds of a guard as he strolls past them.

She clutches the hand at her neck, trying to steady her breathing, even though she can feel his own erratic one blowing hot against her cheek. As the sound of the guard drifts away, she turns to Bellamy, eyes locking with his even in the darkness. They’re so close, foreheads touching as they just breathe each other in.

She leans forward, neck stretching as she kisses him again. This time it’s different, there’s no whirlwind of mind numbing passion, just light, sucking kisses at his upper lip that she repeats until he reciprocates.

Still clutching his hand, she takes a moment to marvel at it, at the feel of how different it is than hers. So large, with prominent veins that run beneath protruding knuckles and down the delicate skin of the back and under his wrist, disappearing into this coat. She pushes at it and he halts in his kissing to take it off.

He stares down at her as her fingers trace a curious path up his arm, little hairs standing at attention, before sliding back down again. She takes hold of his hand once more, pushing it down from its place on her clavicle, to her breast, her smaller hand contracting around him until he gets the hint, squeezing her rounded flesh. His forehead drops to hers, nuzzling her face and swallowing hard.

They have so much to talk about. A near mountain of pain and regret to climb till they can ever be considered “ok”. And even then, she knows they’ll never be the same. But their time is running out now, a nefarious clock that seems to tick faster and faster with each passing second, and she doesn’t want to waste any more of it.

Bellamy’s warm palm finds it way beneath her shirt, holding a steady pressure to her stomach before sliding its way up, pulling down a bra cup to fondle her further, leaving her gasping as she clutches the shirt at his back. He plucks at her nipple, rolling it before running a calloused thumb across it. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and her nails leave crescent marks on his forearm beneath her shirt.

“Bellamy,” she breathes out, stuttered and ragged, lost to lust yet still aware of the people who linger around them.

He ducks his head to her cheek, drawing out a hushed ‘shhh’ into it. He kisses the shell of her ear, hand scraping down her side and around her belly, surprisingly nimble fingers making quick work of the fasten on her pants. Propped up on his forearm, he hovers over her as he slides his fingers down under the elastic of her panties, finally caressing her folds. He’s tender and loving, teasing her heated flesh with reveling fingers.

She tries to move against him, with him, hips undulating under his hand, but he presses the heel of his palm down hard on her mons, holding her still and causing her nose to flare. He leaves a chain of kisses down her cheek and across her jaw, making it back to her lips as his thumb begins to circle just around her clit with slow, soft circles.

She almost feels like she’s floating, breath rapid as her face heats up, strands of her hair tickling her skin, and she so badly _wants_.

A nasally whine escapes her, begging him to have pity, but even she can hear how loud it is, chest constricting with fear as she turns to the person nearest to them. It’s a woman, asleep on her side facing away from them. Clarke can’t tell if she woke her up or not, and embarrassment curls in her stomach.

Bellamy’s nose presses into her skin, heavy, yet even breaths fanning across her. “It’s okay,” he whispers, guttural and raspy, using her distraction to collect the arousal pooling between her legs and rubbing hard circles directly on her clit. She rolls her head back to him lightning fast, catching the cry that nearly escapes her, clamping her jaw together with and audible click.

Eyes fixed on his, she tilts her head back, nails digging into his forearm, not caring at all how much it hurts him, though he doesn’t flinch and for a second she wonders if he feels it at all.

“Breathe, Clarke. Just breathe,” he murmurs against her chin.

She shakes her head. She can’t breathe, because she knows an ungodly screech is just waiting to tear from her throat the moment she lets up. So she’s grateful when he does instead, fingers slowing until they’re feather light and gone completely, which is a whole other torture. But it does allow her to release her pent up breath, coming out in a rush as she sucks in the precious oxygen she’d been denying herself.

He kisses her neck, small pecks to soothe her as she comes back to herself. But soon his fingers are at her entrance, caressing her inner lips leisurely. As her heart starts to beat at an excited, yet less worryingly frantic pace, she takes the time to take in everything, his eyes as they seem to search her features, the weight of his upper body lying half over her, the warmth of his skin on his back as her fingers trace up and down his spine. He shivers at the light touch, and a grin pulls at the corner of her mouth.

He pushes his fingers within her then, feeling her out as he sets an unhurried pace. She sighs sweetly into him, allowing him to work her over, to give her something without fighting him for once. It feels nice as she sinks into it, his thick fingers reaching further and stretching her in ways her own never can. His thumb passes her clit every now and then, giving quick, dirty rubs before abandoning it.

He starts to move faster, fingers eager and hot as they curl inside her walls, making her pant when he finds that certain spot that makes her want to die. He nods silently with satisfaction, expression serious and determined as he looks down at her.

The muscles in her body are locked tight, and she’s trying like hell to reign herself in before she announces to the entire camp what it is they’re doing. But it’s proving difficult as she releases little puffs of breath through her nose, grunting as quietly as she can. Tears come to her eyes and she immediately closes them before a sudden, hoarse cry comes unbidden, tearing up and out. It’s stifled quickly though, Bellamy’s hand wrapping around her lower face with a fierce pressure.

They both freeze, silent except for their harsh breathing, the whole world fuzzy as it stands on the edge of a sharp cliff. She wants to jump, delirious and recklessly desperate to shatter on the rocky shore. She can still feel his fingers deep inside as she pulses around him, begging him to continue, to finish her off so she can finally come up for air. He sighs apologetically in her ear.

With a hand still covering her mouth, he restarts his merciless pace, thumb circling punishingly over her swollen nub. Apparently he’s all in now, fuck everyone around them. And at the moment, she couldn’t agree more.

Her body becomes almost frantic, jerking beneath his touch and heavy weight, smothered cries escaping past the hand he holds tight around her lips as she stares up at him with wide eyes. Her mind is able to comprehend one thing before it completely blanks out, and that is how _calm_ he looks, so untroubled and serene, and her heart is too full and it’s all just too much and she finally breaks, crashing down and breaking through.

When she floats back to herself, her eyes are watery and her limbs pleasantly numb. Bellamy peers down at her, and she can see the worry in his face with his furrowed brows and hard line of his mouth. She detaches her nails that have become embedded in his forearm, wincing for him since, again, he doesn’t even seem to feel it, and uses her thumb to smooth away the crease between his dark brows, giving him a lethargic smile.

He blinks down at her, sighing in relief as he ducks his head. Her dull nails scratch at the skin on the base of his neck, fingers playing with the curls there as they giggle into each other’s mouths. She turns to check on the sleeping lady beside them, shocked to see her gone. Humiliation bubbles its way through her as her face catches fire. The chances of her mother hearing about this are high, and she doesn’t at all look forward to _that_ conversation. But Bellamy only cradles the back of her head, chest shaking as he snickers into her hair.

She pulls back to scowl at him, without any real heat except for her embarrassment at the whole situation. “It’s not funny,” she hisses.

Smile still tugging at his lips, he looks overjoyed. Honestly, you’d think _he_ was the one who just had a mind blowing orgasm. “It’s ok,” he says, hand running up and down her bicep, and she almost feels like it will be. Not just with her mother, but the whole damn thing, the end of the world, _them_. They’ll be ok.

“Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”  


End file.
